


Just Following Orders

by HouseOfFinches



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Porn, Scarlet Witch/Vision - Freeform, Sex, Smut, Wanda/Vision - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 05:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13241715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseOfFinches/pseuds/HouseOfFinches
Summary: Basically just smut.Wanda and Vision, established prior sexual history.Pretty explicit, sorry not sorry?





	Just Following Orders

**Author's Note:**

> Just for fun smut!  
> Haven’t edited yet so forgive mistakes!

Quietly he let his body slip through metal beams and brick and mortar. It was late in the night, or very early in the morning—that darkness that feels heavy and still, both cloaking and exposing. He likely could have walked down the building’s halls and found them empty but he was a man of caution. It added an extra layer of excitement, this secret, and he was happy to play his role sincerely.

Upon entering her room, he first noticed the smell—a perfume, hazy, enticing, suggestive. The scent was something new and yet it was still distinctly _her_ —smoky, crushed velvet, smoldering crimson—he was lost in it, letting the smell filtrate his mind and saturate his memory.

He stood fully phased in the middle of her quarters, the amber lighting setting a distinct mood. It was their hour, their time to let the façade fall away and revel in their true selves.

He laid eyes upon her then, watching the satisfied smile spread across her face. She was dressed in black lace that hugged at her hips and strained against her chest appealingly. She wore sheer black stockings that emphasized her long legs, and black heels that were impractical for walking but very good at making him throb in time with his pulse. The red satin robe she wore was satire—laughing in the face of modesty, hinting at her costumed-heroine persona.

He’d never seen her dressed in this fashion—lingerie, hair curled, red lips hinting of something akin to vintage Hollywood, the word _vixen_ tumbling into his mind. He finds the idea of her making herself up for _him_ surprisingly appealing—not only does she grant him the blessing of her time and body, but she wants him to find it arousing, alluring. Surely he was undeserving of any of this.

“Hello,” she whispered, the words hushed against the night. The inky bedding is nearly lost in the shadows, making her form golden against a sea of black.

The impulse to touch her pulls him to her side, a magnetic force. He reached to touch the smooth skin along her collar, the lace beckoning his gaze downward.

“Uh uh..” she hummed, faux disappointment coloring her features. She props herself up onto her elbows.

“Tonight,” she says, voice still low, a devious smile pulling up her mouth, “I think I will give orders.” She raises her eyebrow in question, authoritative but inquisitive.

“Of course,” Vision replies, half anxious, half aching to do anything that grants him access to her flesh and her affections.

“Stand there,” she points a foot away from her bed. Vision moves, obedient, nervous.

“Now, phase out of that outfit,” she demanded, her face serious and expectant. She had seen him nude more times than even he could remember and yet this made him feel vulnerable, exposed. And still he obeyed, willing the atoms that covered his body to dissipate, the particles losing themselves to the air.

The cool air hit his skin, drawing his attention to the burn of the blush that warmed his face and the pulse that thrummed along his erection. Vulnerable. Exciting.

Wanda sat perched on the edge of her mattress, peering up at him, her eyes gleaming, mischievous.

She turned her head, as if mulling over a question he hasn’t asked. “Come here,” she called, slightly parting her knees. The sight of her made Vision yearn to touch the supple flesh of her thighs. He stepped forward, hands at his side. She looked up at him while she leaned in, his hardness centimeters from her cherry lips. He didn’t dare move, a sentinel, though his body called for action, called to see the image of his hand running through her coifed curls, guiding her, the sight of her mouth around his—

“Kneel,” she directed, denying even a graze of her lips against him. And so he did, the tiled floor a stark cold against his shins.

She stood before him, allowing the silky robe to drape off her shoulders before letting it fall to the ground in a pool of ruby. He drank in the image, the way her heels accentuated her toned thighs, the way the lace hinted at her creamy skin beneath. How was he to bear this?

Slowly, as she watched him watching her, she hooked those lacy panties and delicately shimmied them down her legs. She stepped out of them when they hit the floor, allowing her to pivot before bending at the waist to pick them up. Vision leaned forward to touch her, hands going for her hips.

“No. No touching,” she scolded, looking over her shoulder. She was a temptress, a witch, surely no one should have such control over another.

Gracefully she stood to face him again, her bare mound tantalizingly out of reach. But still he remained.

“What am I to do with you?” She asked. And she smiled as if she had come up with an answer.

“Nothing, I think.” She sat back on the edge of her bed, smiling at him while glancing down at his strained, untouched cock.

She laid herself back along her mattress, letting her hands roam across her clothed breasts, slowly making her way downward.

“I’m so wet, Viszh,” she sighed as her fingers delicately met her folds. He could see that—the way she glistened in the dim light. His mouth watered at the thought of leaning in to taste her.

Slowly she drew circles along her clit, drawing out the sensation, drawing out his waiting. The impulse to touch himself in unison occurred to him. He put it aside. She’d asked only that he kneel—nothing more—and he was inclined to follow her directives.

He watched as her pace picked up, her breathing hitching in time with her fingers.

“Do you want to taste me, Vision?” Her lilting accent more pronounced with lust.

“Yes,” he replied simply, waiting for permission. She parted her legs and he moved forward. He gave a tentative taste, lapping his tongue flat against her folds before centering in on her clit. She _was_ so wet, tasting musky and sweet. He was well-versed in the art of using his mouth to bring her to orgasm, but this was the first time she’d demanded it, the first time she’d ever denied him immediate access to her body since their trysts began. It was frustrating, it was exhilarating.

With practiced expertise, she was moaning from his ministrations, whispered Sokovian curses, broken cries of pleasure.

“Please,” she breathed, “more?” And he complied, sliding one finger, then two, inside her, moving in time with the patterns he drew with his tongue.

And there, the tightening of her muscles, the arch of her back, he felt her come. He slowed his work, coming to a stop to place kisses along her thigh while her breathing slowed.

She propped herself up, hair mussed, eyes heavy-lidded.

“I want more,” she demanded, not giving him time to question what exactly she wanted more of. Whatever she wanted, he would supply.

She brought herself to all fours, heels hanging off the bed, stockinged thighs lifting her ass provocatively into the air.

“What do you want, Wanda?” He asked while standing, enjoying the sight of her, bent over and wanton.

“No more questions, just fuck me,” she commanded. And again he would oblige. Her gasp as he ran his cock along her slit fueled his desire, his muscles unsteady from adrenaline and restraint. He lined himself up, the anticipation of this moment having pooled in his stomach, coiled, he thrust into her, hard, jolting.

She was fire, burning around him, all-encompassing. There was nothing but her tightness, her moans, the arch of her back to meet his thrusts. He grabbed her hips, rough, dictating the depth and force she took him. It was his turn to take control, to command.

He set a steady pace, letting his hips bruise the flesh along her thighs, acquiescing to each _more_ Wanda pleaded. It built so quickly, that beckoning to the edge, but it was her cry, _oh my god, oh my god_ , the tight flutter of her muscles around his cock that sent him over the edge. He buckled over, the dewy skin of her back against his stomach, the spike of her heel digging into his thigh. He felt her breath begin to steady below him and gently he disentangled himself from her, letting his body heavily fall to the mattress next to her.

Wanda toed off her heels and drew herself against him, her head draped against his shoulder, her curls in disarray.

“Mmm,” she hummed, eyes closed as she smiled. “You’re pretty good at following direction,” she complimented.

He grinned against her hair. “I’ve never had such compelling orders before,” he sighed, thinking of how much he would rather do this than listen to Steve in the morning.

 

 

 


End file.
